Somedays I wake up with a lump in my throat that refuses to go away- It comes with a huge warm sense of regret and non-specific nostalgia; paradise lost, when I never had the paradise in the first place… At my age now of 54, I do have a trove of memories to wax nostalgic for, but this reoccuring sadness almost seems to come from some other past- It is a cloak cut from the same cloth as those that would occasionally drape over my childhood mornings- I remember being surrounded by action at a playground- An early autumn breeze would come through the trees, and I would be overcome by a bittersweet melancholy that would send me away to some other world of emotion I had yet to earn enough life years to properly feel- Maybe it’s just the sad truth of humanity poking its head out of the cotton candy false reality we pretend to enjoy? Maybe it’s just my personal pile of forgotten woes I’ve buried down into my psyche? Maybe it’s just a simple fear of the future, disguised as sentiment for the past? Maybe I need a therapist! Well, writing helps, so I’ll try to get back to doing this-